


How Did You Get In Here?

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bunker Ending (Far Cry), Descent into Madness, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Psychological Horror, Threat of Bodily Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: Locked in a bunker with his greatest enemy, Joseph Seed begins to question his sanity.





	How Did You Get In Here?

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as just your standard enemies to friends to lovers thing and it evolved into something else that I ended up really liking. I hope y'all do too.

He hated her. He _hated_ her. She sat there, slumped next to the bed, still handcuffed to it because she had bitten him yesterday. Spiteful and angry, he hadn’t given her food in two days. But now he felt guilty. Using the old microwave, he heated an MRE and brought it to her, uncuffing one of her hands so she could eat. She did so hungrily, shoveling the food into her mouth in desperation. He stayed there, staring at her. The Voice had told him she would bring death, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not really. He had tried to show her mercy, time and again, even after she killed his family. She had killed his family.

Joseph realized suddenly that he was crying, not just crying, but sobbing outright, snot hanging from his nose, hot tears dripping onto the floor as he stood there, staring at her as she ate. She craned her head upwards, a confused, hateful look on her ghostly face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked hoarsely, the monotone voice of someone already dead. Turning away, he slammed the door of her room behind him, leaving only one of her hands bound to the bed.

When next Joseph returned to her room, she was quiet. She didn’t lash out at him with her free hand, didn’t try to attack. He sat on the chair and sighed.

“I am sorry for my…outburst earlier. The pain of my siblings’ deaths is still,” he swallowed a lump, “fresh.” She nodded.

“You know what’s still fresh for me too?” she asked in a low hiss. “The deaths of my friends. Whitehorse. Pratt. Hudson. Sharky. Hurk. Nick. Grace…” she kept going, kept naming names until he wanted to strike her, wanted to lash out and _hurt_ her. He began talking over her now, furious.

“Jacob, John, Faith, Nancy, Clarence, Timothy, Jared,” he listed, feeling a hot sensation in his chest, rage, he recognized. They quoted names at one another, growing in volume until they were screaming the names of the people whose deaths they were responsible for. They stopped suddenly and she sighed. Joseph closed his mouth with a click of teeth, feeling guilt suffuse him suddenly. But then the anger was back. He snarled. “You were _wrong_,” he told her, a finger jabbing at her in accusation, his jaw ticking with fury as he pushed the guilt of the deaths that he was responsible for down, refusing to acknowledge them. She stared at him, seeming to flicker from existence for a moment as her face fell.

“I know,” she whispered. Taken aback, he blinked several times, shoulders untensing. “I know.” She started to cry. “I know. You were right. You were right. You were right.” She sobbed, tugging miserably at the handcuff on her wrist, crushing the heel of her free hand into her eyes to try to stop the flow of tears. Joseph squatted down and pulled her into an embrace. She froze, stiff.

“I will…try…to forgive you,” he told her, and then stood and walked to the door before she could strike him or bite him or kick him, but he still heard her whispered response as if it was said right next to his ear.

“I can never forgive you, Joseph Seed. You’ve killed us all. My friends, my family, m–” He slammed the door to shut her out, grasping a hand to his temple, taking a shuddering breath.

Time passed and slowly, she began to resist him less. Stopped lashing out at him. Stopped throwing things around the room in fury. Stopped trying to hurt him anytime he came near. During the day, or at least what passed for a day for him, he was approximating it by the timed light of the aquarium, he let her be free, uncuffed and allowed to roam the bunker as she wanted. As soon as he felt drowsy, he always locked her wrist back to her bed knowing she would kill him in his sleep, but so long as he was conscious, she was free to haunt the entirety of the bunker. It was consistently warm in the bunker so whenever she was free, she always stripped down to bra and panties, unabashed at being so unclothed near him. It gave him impure thoughts, but she was free to dress as she pleased, so he said nothing.

He was free to step into the bathroom and lay hands on himself, desperately pumping into his own hand and praying God for forgiveness for this sin, remembering his eyes sliding over her ethereal skin, taking in her thin, Stygian form. If she knew he had been attracted to her before she had declared war on him and his family, she acted oblivious to it. He had fought off those feelings once she showed up at his compound, once she clicked cuffs on his wrists, too tight, cutting into the pale flesh there. His crush had devolved into hatred as she killed each of his siblings, but now with only her and him in this space, his longing for her had resurfaced. He was _lonely._ And he was guilty. The memory of his followers, of resistance members, of his family haunted him. The Voice no longer spoke to him. He was left alone in the aftermath of his empty triumph.

One evening on a particularly trying day months into their captivity, he laid on the sofa in the room where the aquarium was, not feeling like retreating to the bathroom. He had been fighting with guilt over the deaths of Hope County’s residents all day, had lost sleep over it the previous night, so he was tired and looking for release. He was achingly hard after watching his fellow inmate pace back and forth within their underground prison, nearly naked in front of him, tearing at her clothes like they were too tight, stripping to bare essentials. He wondered if she knew exactly what it was doing to him, if she was doing it purposefully. Regardless, he felt no desire to sit on the toilet while emptying himself into his hand. He wanted release in relative comfort. She had retreated to her room for the evening anyway, or so he had thought.

Joseph’s eyes snapped open when he felt a warm hand join his beneath the blanket. Suspicious of her intentions, he had jerked backwards, straightening.

“It’s lonely down here,” she murmured. “I don’t care about you, hell, I don’t even like you, but…we’re going to be down here a long time.” Joseph’s breathing was coming fast, but he tolerated the touch as she stroked him, as she added a talented, warm mouth, sliding up and down his length. He moaned in pleasure, trying to ignore the flare of hatred that still sat heavy and hot in his chest. He looked down at her, threading his fingers in her hair. He felt a jolt of absolute terror coarse through him when she bared her teeth, biting down slightly on his engorged cock and it took every ounce of self-control not to jerk backwards away from her.

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking on the word, his eyes pleading with her, “don’t.” She slid her mouth off him with a vulgar sounding pop, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to his cock for a moment. She laughed. She actually laughed at his discomfort and fear and in a millisecond, his hatred was back. Furious, he snatched her up, dragging her by her hair back to her room, cuffing her in place as she continued to laugh, the sounds somehow echoing throughout the bunker.

Months passed and they fell into a rhythm. They would eat together, chatting thoughtlessly about nothing. He would let her roam the bunker, she would do so in her underwear or in a thin t-shirt. He would read or draw or pray or write. Occasionally he would pleasure himself with his hand, and she would watch sometimes, making him deeply uncomfortable, but he never allowed her to participate since she had threatened to bite his dick off. He had learned his lesson, learned not to trust her. Some days he wanted to kill her, but her companionship, while not ideal, staved off insanity. He needed her to be here.

He was reading one afternoon when Rook approached him. He tucked his feet under himself protectively, feeling unsafe in her presence, feeling her as a constant threat when she invaded his space unannounced, her footsteps completely silent. She said nothing, just sat down next to him on the couch, leaned against him. His breathing hitched and his heartrate increased madly. Her head lolled onto his shoulder as he sat, stiff and, frankly, afraid.

“Relax,” she murmured. “I’m just touch-starved. Figured you were too.” She turned to face him, saw the terror on his face, frowned. “Wow. Never thought _I’d_ be the one scaring _you_. Always thought that would go the other way, but once I realized my life was over, I guess that made someone like you a lot less frightening to someone like me. Can I braid your hair?” Joseph opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, opened it, his lips curling in disgust and hatred.

“I’d let you, but I fear you’d just rip it out to make a joke,” he snapped, jaw clenching. She chuckled.

“That’s fair. Still.” She reached a hand up without permission, touched the back of his head. Her touch was cold against his neck. He tensed, but nothing happened other than his brown-black hair spilling around his face. He looked at her, feeling, oddly, just as vulnerable as when he’d had his cock in her mouth, clamped in her too-white teeth. She reached her hand out again and he flinched. She ignored it and pulled his glasses off gently. “_I wear my sunglasses at night_,” she sang, hoarse and off-key, one side of her mouth crooked up in a smirk. Not asking permission, she slid them on her nose instead and half-stood, adjusting her position on the couch so that she was sitting behind him, her thighs on either side of his legs, her crotch pressed up against his ass.

Joseph shuddered when Rook teased her fingers through his hair, catching on occasional tangles and working them free. She scratched his scalp gently and he hummed, surprised at how carefully she was touching him, how kind her touch was. She wove braids into his hair, four small ones that wound from his temple to the crown of his head, holding the hair out of his face. He nodded off, his sunglasses slipping off his nose.

Awaking with a cry, Joseph jerked away from her, panting, sure that there would be a knife pointing down at his heart, or a rope around his neck. He retreated to the corner of the room, still breathing hard.

“Go…go to your room,” he ordered. Rook held her hands up to indicate innocence.

“You just dozed off for a moment, Joseph. You’re fine.”

“Go,” he said, tone brooking no argument. He cuffed her one wrist in place, the usual arrangement. She sighed.

“You look good with your hair partially down. You should leave it like that.” Joseph bared his teeth in a hateful grimace and he slammed the door behind him. He sank against the door, covering his face in his hands, shaking. He had come close to death today. Falling asleep with Rook in the room unbound was like trying to sleep next to a viper. Dangerous, probably fatal. Furious, he ripped the braids out of his hair beneath a stream of cold water as he showered to calm himself.

Yet more months passed, and she finally persuaded him to stop handcuffing her to the bed. He still wouldn’t allow her to be free when he slept. He altered the lock on her door so that it could only be unlocked from the outside. He had still slept fitfully the first few nights she spent free within her locked room, but so long as there was at least one lock keeping her away from him, keeping him safe, he would be alright, he convinced himself. They still ate together, sharing more details of their lives as time went on. There was only so much one could say about the weather when the weather was unknown.

Regardless of what he had learned about her as they spoke softly, hesitantly, he still couldn’t trust her. He still locked her in her room every night, and tonight was no different. He stripped off his clothes, exhausted and sweaty.

She appeared next to him in the shower.

Joseph nearly killed himself trying to bolt away from her on the slick tiles.

“Hey,” she murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder gently. “It’s okay.” She reached her other hand down, palming him professionally. He scowled at the touch, but his body betrayed him, his cock grew heavy and hard in her grip. She went to her knees under the stream of lukewarm water. He snatched her by the hair, stopping her from putting her mouth on him. She smiled, showing sharp white teeth that made him shudder and go limp.

“How did you get in here?” he asked her as she stood, removing her hands from him. She smiled at him.

“You left the door unlocked.” But he knew that he had not. He escorted her back to her room, a towel slung around his thin hips. He locked her back in her room, checked the lock. He stayed in the next room that night, watching, vigilant. She did not get out again that night, and when he awoke in the morning his neck was stiff from slumping against the wall.

Weeks later, Joseph’s heart skipped a beat when he walked into the kitchen area to find Rook holding a knife, chopping stale chunks of powdered egg apart so they could be crumbled and cooked. She saw the whale-eyed terror in his eyes, shook her head, laughing at him, a sound that echoed in the space, sent a shiver down his spine.

“How did you get that?” he demanded.

“I got it out of the drawer,” she answered him, deadpan, calm and stoic about his suspicion, as always. “You left it unlocked.” He frowned, taking it from her gingerly. She scoffed, but didn’t fight him. He had locked all the weapons away months ago and he kept a lock on the one drawer in the kitchen that held all the knives. How was she doing this?

Joseph leaned heavily against the counter, his breaths coming fast and uncontrolled. He could feel his heart beating hard and felt lightheaded.

“I can’t,” he gasped, “I can’t take this anymore, living with someone who wants to kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Joseph,” she murmured. “Not anymore.” Ignoring her words, he retreated to the aquarium room and waited until she went to her room on her own before he locked the door behind her with shaking hands. Even with her promise, he still felt constant fear. It was like living with a sword hanging over his head by a string, just as oppressive and present as his constant guilt. He was responsible for the deaths of nearly as many people as she was, maybe more. After all, he had known what was coming. He could have done more, could have saved more. One day, Joseph Seed knew, one day she would take her revenge for them. One day she would kill him, and he wouldn’t even see it coming, he thought, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling violently as he wrote frantically in his journal.

No one could be vigilant all the time. Months passed and fear still slid down Joseph’s spine at the thought of the deputy being loose in this space while he slumbered. Dark hollows formed under his eyes, permanent and giving him the macabre look of a living skull.

Joseph awoke with a start as Rook crawled into his bed with him, an eldritch horror slithering between his sheets. His heart was thundering in his chest. This was it. She was here to strangle the life from him. She climbed atop him and he realized absently that she was naked. She reached a hand between them, shoved his briefs off so that they were matched in their nudity. She stroked gentle fingers over his scars and brands and tattoos as he struggled with his terror and his guilt. Once again his cock had a mind of its own, growing hard in her talented hand. She sank down on him with a little moan of satisfaction. He let out a strangled sound, but she wasn’t hurting him, he realized, calming. Hesitant, he put his hands on her hips, guiding her as she rode him. He felt the warmth and tightness of her walls around his dick, felt himself rubbing against her most intimate parts. She grabbed one of his hands, forced it to cover her pale breast.

The deputy moved above him, terrible and wild, completely in control of this situation. She bent over him, bringing her face close to his. In the darkness, he couldn’t read her expression, but she pressed a sudden hard kiss against his lips, threaded her tongue into his mouth insistently, bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, lapped it away. She pulled him upright, scratching blunt nails up and down his back.

“How did you get in here?” he murmured in her ear, latching onto her throat with a hand. She traced the tip of her tongue around the shell of his before responding.

“You left the door unlocked.” He emptied himself inside her with a cry of shock and disbelief, keeping his vice-like grip on her throat, feeling it close beneath his fingers, feeling her struggle beneath his touch. He tightened his grip.

“S-stop,” she begged, “stop.” And then she was gone as though she had never been there. Legs wobbly from his unsatisfying release, he staggered to her door, locked it, tugging on the handle to be sure it was secure.

Joseph was even more obsessed with ensuring her door was locked after that, double and sometimes triple-checking it. Once, unable to sleep without being certain that there was a barrier between him and his eerie companion, Joseph climbed out of bed in the middle of the night to check the lock again. When he did he could have sworn he saw her eyes staring at him through the window in the door, malevolent and glowing.

She returned to him a few nights later, covering his body with hers once more. Terror streaked through him. He had locked the door. He knew he had. He moved a desk in front of the door the next night and left it there.

Panting, he awoke, Rook curled next to him.

Joseph walled off her room completely with furniture. He had locked her door. He had locked her door. He had locked her door.

“Hey,” she murmured in his ear, brushing hair back from it.

“How did you get in here?” The words tumbled out of his mouth as he stared at her in disbelief.

“You left the door unlocked,” she whispered. Joseph screamed, clamping his hands over his ears, shrieking in terror and madness as her glowing eyes bore a hole in him.

“How did you get in here?” he screamed at the people standing all around him, some of them dripping blood, others riddled with bullet holes, others burnt, their skin still glowing orange. Jacob, John, Faith, Eli, Earl, Staci, Joey, Wheaty, all of them, all those people he had let be killed in the Reaping, all souls he had failed to save from God’s wrath. They multiplied, cramming into the walls of the room where Joseph sat on the bed, clawing at his eyes in indescribable horror. “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!” Joseph shrieked.

“You left the door unlocked,” they said in unison. Terrified, he ran toward the door, flinging it open.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The security captain peered into the rusted, abandoned truck. A weathered yellow-brown skeleton was leaning over the steering wheel. Yet another was lying on the hood, shattered pieces of windshield around it. Two more skeletons leaned against the doors in the backseat. Tarnished badges hung from the tattered remains of clothing on all four of them. Curious, he followed the gravel road he had found the truck on. There before him was an old bunker, its door hanging open. Just outside it he found a partially destroyed skeleton with a rotted rosary tangled around its left arm.

The inside of the bunker was a disaster. Furniture had been pushed into every doorway except for one. He stepped into the room, shining his flashlight around. In red-black ink, or maybe blood, was scrawled hundreds of times “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?” He heard a noise behind him, whirled, shocked to see a transparent, wavering specter of a blood-splattered, tattooed man wearing ethereal yellow aviators, its thin face aghast.

“How did you get in here?”


End file.
